


God Laughs

by SuperImposed



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Other, POV Second Person, Self-cest, Unspecified/Other Gender Avatar - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:57:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperImposed/pseuds/SuperImposed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The battle of the Table succeeds as planned.</p><p>And then everything goes awry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God Laughs

**Author's Note:**

> "Men plan, God laughs." - Various
> 
> This work is rather rough, in more than one sense. Heed the warnings.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Validar is dead, just smoldering ash at this point. Basilio has revealed himself, and you’re all enjoying your little victory.

And then you appear.

The you from Carrion Island, the one you had forgotten (and why, how had you forgotten this?) during these long months of battle.

All that’s visible under their violet hood is a frightening smirk. Your allies are turning, surprise and confusion on their faces, and the other you just raises a hand.

Chrom hits the ground hard.

Your own cry deafens you, Lucina’s not far behind. You all but fall to his side, hands slipping in blood and violently burnt flesh, and no, no, this isn’t right! You saw what was going to happen - you _changed_ it!

But Chrom’s eyes are blank and empty, caught in a moment of pure shock. Your ally, your leader, your friend - he’s dead, and you can’t do a damned thing.

You’re vaguely aware of Lucina rushing your false self, the others following suit, or Rescuing wounded allies away or strong allies near, or just staring in utter bafflement. Basilio grabs your shoulder, yanking you up, and he shoves you towards Flavia and points for the exit, expression grimmer than you’ve ever seen. He takes a Thoron bolt and staggers, alerting you to a fresh wave of Grimleal pouring into the room.

You finally shake the fugue, face damp and teeth clenched as you swing at a new foe, trying to ignore the brief screams coming from all who attack your double. You manage to find your voice and order as many of your friends away as you can. Some will ignore you, you know, but others are dragged or warped away, and the hall slowly empties.

A Grimleal takes advantage of your distraction as you watch the retreat. All goes dark.

 

“About time.”

You groan, rolling your head in pain. It’s about the only part you CAN move - what limbs haven’t been shackled are being restrained by the empty-eyed pious. You’ve the perfect angle to look up into your own face.

At least you hope that yours would never hold such a callous sneer. “Good morning, me. Ready to be a god?”

You thrash weakly. “G-Go to hell.”

Their gloved hand catches your cheek hard, knocking you against your captors. The violence doesn’t frighten you so much as the pure nonchalance that accompanies it. No matter how similar you look, you could never (you hope) be like this… _monster_.

Another iron is clapped on, binding the last of your limbs together. Your copy tilts their head, appraising you.

“Drop them.”

You hit the floor with a groan and a clatter, nearly missing the next words: “Now… leave me. Heh.”

You can feel them crouching over you and look away, not wanting to meet the whirling madness in their eyes. The alternative is hardly better. Your gaze falls upon body after body, the mangled remains of people you once called friends. 

There was Yarne, collapsed on top of his mother’s body, teeth still clamped around a Grimleal corpse. Lon’qu and Gregor had been skewered by the same javelin - it looked as if Gregor had continued fighting even after the swordsman had expired. Maribelle had been slashed nearly in half, thigh to shoulder; next to her lay what looked suspiciously like one of Olivia’s arms. And Vaike was surrounded by an impressive circle of foes, having fought his way to Chrom’s side.

Chrom… oh, gods. 

He and Lucina lay side by side, looking almost peaceful among the gory battlefield. Peaceful, but far too still.

He was gone.

You felt sick, both grieved and relieved that there were not more bodies in the room, more tallies on your conscience.

“Sad, isn’t it?”

You flinch away from the carnage, finally facing your opposite. Their mouth curls into a little smirk. 

They kneel, knees trapping your thighs and fingers caressing your jaw. “But I can take all that sorrow away...”

You look down, luring them in closer, and then slam your head against theirs. The violent slap that follows is almost worth it, even if it drives your head hard against the floor.

Their hand stays on your neck, pinning you further. Finally, they sigh.

“You could have ruled with me, you fool. We could have become Grima together, taking in that glorious power and purpose and wielding it across the land.” You see them shake their head out of the corner of your eye. “But you chose these weaklings instead. Well, I can’t claim to have ever understood you… oh, wait.”

They bend in closer, breath brushing your face. It smells of smoke and death and something not of the world, dark and potent. “You could have had the world in the palm of your hand. You could have granted these precious fools a swift and merciful end. But you will become Grima if I have to drag you every inch of the way.”

You cough against the increasing pressure on your throat. “F-Fuck you, you b- _agh_.” You gag as two gloved fingers shove into your mouth. The fabric is too thick to bite through, and heavy with the taste of blood and worse.

“So rude… still, an appealing proposition.” You can feel them eyeing you, confusion quickly replaced with panic as you understand. Bucking and thrashing hardly moves them, and again they slam your head down. Ears ringing, you miss their next words.

The fingers are suddenly removed, a hard mouth replacing them just as quickly. Both hands pull your head back, grip painfully tight. You try to bite down, but they have the idea first. They swallow your gasp and blood alike.

One hand migrates down to your neck, squeezing whenever you try to fight back, releasing just before you lose consciousness. They’re laying fully on top of you now, knees braced so that they can occasionally grind against you. You feel sick and weak. 

Your head is pounding and whirling and filled with dark, comforting words that you can’t quite make out. Every kiss seems to take more out of you, and makes them only stronger. They’ve gone from hungry to ravenous, opposite hand sliding sickeningly down your front and into your trousers. You’re just conscious enough to be horrified at your own - _both_ of your own - arousal, and even more so at the sounds they coax from you. Every whine and sob seems to be swallowed up - it feels like they’re drawing your very breath out of you.

You realize with horror that they _are_.

Their eyes are brighter and redder with every movement, sharp points of crimson shining at their brow. Fangs invade your mouth alongside a forked, _toothed_ tongue. And you can’t see your own (true) face, but you can feel yourself losing substance at an alarming rate.

You renew your struggles, trying to break away, and they laugh. It’s a horrible, resonating sound that rubs your mind raw. They work their hand against your movements, your own thrashing abetting their designs. You sob as you finally orgasm, shaking with terror and horror and sick pleasure as they caress you throughout, milking every spasm until you are emptied. You can’t fight - you have nothing left to fight with - as they press a disturbingly gentle kiss to your bruised and bloodied lips.

They push away to stand above you, casting shadows of Grima’s dire form. Wispy wings and tail and horns coalesce and fade. Their bright eyes, a mockery of your shared mark, burn into you, and they throw back their head and laugh.

You feel hollow, all power drawn out. Your vision finally fades, and all you can feel is relief that Chrom wasn’t alive to see this.

**Author's Note:**

> And here I was trying to get OFF (no pun intended) the noncon horse. At least I'm writing again?


End file.
